After what felt like hours, the stone path opened into a vast expanse—a circular platform suspended in the void. At its center stood a monolithic gate, its surface covered in glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. The air here was thick, heavy with an energy that made it hard to breathe.
Su Huan approached the gate, but as he did, a shimmering figure materialized before it. It was a man, cloaked in light, his features indistinct yet somehow familiar.
"You have come far," the figure said, its voice resonating like a bell. "But to pass, you must confront the truth. Do you have the strength to face yourself?"
Su Huan's grip tightened on the copper lamp. "What truth?"
The figure gestured, and the space around Su Huan warped. Suddenly, he was no longer standing on the platform. He was back in his village, the smell of smoke and blood thick in the air.
His home was in ruins, flames licking at the wooden beams. He heard the cries of his parents, their voices calling his name, desperate and pained.
"Save them," the figure's voice echoed, now distant and hollow.
Su Huan ran toward the house, but no matter how fast he moved, he couldn't get closer. The cries grew louder, more anguished, until they abruptly stopped.
He fell to his knees, gasping for breath, the copper lamp trembling in his hand. The illusion shattered, and he was back on the platform, the gate looming before him.
"Why show me this?" he demanded, his voice raw.
The figure replied, its tone unyielding: "The flame is fed by your regrets, your guilt, your pain. You cannot carry it without knowing what fuels it."